


That Feeling of Being Watched When Sharing a Bed With Someone Else's Bae

by TheAfterthought



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Jealous Bucky Barnes, M/M, just sorta, sorta-there Tony/Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3916600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAfterthought/pseuds/TheAfterthought
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Tony share a bed. Someone doesn't wike it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Feeling of Being Watched When Sharing a Bed With Someone Else's Bae

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Такое чувство, что за тобой следят, когда ты делишь постель с чьим-то любимым](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4564371) by [BlueSunrise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSunrise/pseuds/BlueSunrise)



> I don't even know. I haven't written anything in ages, and I need to get a move on, because a writer who doesn't write isn't really a writer, is it?
> 
> I don't normally write with Tony's voice in mind, so I don't know how well this turned out. I just really wanted to squeeze Bucky into AoU, and this is how I wanted to do it, because if anyone is going to share a bed with Steve Rogers, it should be Bucky Barnes. Or he should at least be there to keep an eye on anyone else taking his spot.
> 
> I tried to write humor, but I am not a funny person, so it might just be awkward. Like me!
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.

 

Tony heard a noise behind him, a sharp _tap tap_ of something hard against glass, and realized that he’d been listening to the same noise for the past few minutes. It had taken him a while to wake up, pulled from a dream where that same _tap tap_ was the noise of Pepper clicking a red nail against his helmet, whispering a mixture of exciting flirtations and angry exclamations of _What were you thinking, come out of there Tony, you can’t hide from me._

Fully extracted from his good dream/nightmare, Tony had stared at Steve’s sleeping face for a few moments before realizing that he was in fact awake, and the tapping was not a dream, and neither was the solid body curled up next to him. Of course Steve was really sleeping next to him in the same bed. Earlier that night, Tony had been directed towards the guest bedroom by a smirking asshole (read: Barton, Clint) and had met Steve at the door. Not long after, they shared silent understanding that they had both been given the same bedroom for the night by the jerk with the arrows--which, really, wouldn’t have been much of a problem if there had been more than one bed.

There wasn’t. There was only the one.

Honestly, Tony had expected Steve to sacrifice his good night’s rest by sleeping on the floor like the 1940s gentleman that he was, because he was used to sleeping on hard surfaces, having been out in the wilderness during the war and all--leaving the whole queen sized bed to Tony. Then Tony would have taken the offer because it’d be rude to turn it down. Duh.

But Steve had just stared at him and shrugged and walked into the room tossing a quick “I’ll take the left” over his shoulder before stripping down to his undershirt and a pair of dark boxers.

Well. Tony wasn’t going to sleep on the floor. 

Hence, two grown men--one young super soldier and one slightly older but still good looking super genius--had started off the night in the same bed, both leaning back against the headboard, cushioned by goose down pillows. Steve had spent a few minutes reading _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ , which he had borrowed from one of Clint’s tiny mini agents, while Tony had skimmed through a few magazines he’d found in the bedside drawers before tossing them aside because the housemaking tips they marketed to their audience were all crap. Who lined their kitchen windows with gaudy grape vine rub on transfers? Who did that? 

It took longer than they’d liked for both of them to fall asleep--the stress of fighting off a virtually indestructible robot that could create it’s own duplicates which were all set on world domination made it very hard to clear your mind, you see--but fall asleep they did. Steve dropped off first, stretched out on his back, head and shoulder elevated by two admittedly comfortable pillows. Tony had felt himself drift off not long after, very aware of the small gap between them, but not too bothered by it. He couldn’t afford to be bothered by it anyway.

_Tap tap_

Tony blinked. His eyelids had grown heavy and he’d felt his mind drifting, but he hadn’t been aware of falling back to sleep until that _tap tap_ had sounded again.

He also hadn’t been aware of the decrease in space between himself and the softly breathing captain next to him. Steve, who had started off sleeping on his back, was now curled on his side facing Tony. One hand rested between them, close to his cheek. Tony was surprised, because he hadn’t felt Steve move at all. Maybe he was too deep in sleep if he couldn’t feel a body of solid muscle shifting around right next to him. Or maybe Steve was just as stealthy and nimble in bed as he was in the field.

Nimble in bed. Okay. Not the best choice of words, considering their positions, and that one dream he’d had that one time after that one battle where Steve had done some impressive acrobatics for a guy his size in his torn uniform--

_Tap TAP_

Finally, fed up with almost falling back to sleep but being kept from that by the tap-tapping behind him, he turned around to face the window and flip off Clint who was probably spying on them like a creep because he wanted blackmail or some such shit and--

And there was a man staring at him from the window.

A man with a scowl that was scary enough and full of enough dark promises to drain the color from Tony’s hair. 

_tap tap_

The man, who was definitely not Clint, rapped the tip of a blade against the window, eyes locked onto Tony’s. Tony watched the blade. It had to be, what, a good six inches long? Maybe seven? Moonlight glinted off the smooth metal. Moonlight also glinted off the shined metal hand that held it.

Tony watched the blade lift from the window and rest against the man’s chin. The man--to hell with ‘the man,’ this was Bucky Barnes, the guy that Wilson was supposed to be tracking, and Tony was going to have words with Wilson, by the way--Barnes held the blade like a finger to his lips and mimed the well known command of _Shhh._

Absolute silence. Tony could do that.

Seemingly confident that Tony would follow his every command, Barnes lowered the blade back to the window and darkened his scowl. His dark hair was pulled back, shorter than what Steve and Wilson had explained, and the moonlight was bright enough to illuminate every aspect of his expression, which clearly communicated his thoughts concerning Tony. They really didn’t seem to be very good thoughts.

Instead of punching through the window to grab Tony and drag him out through shattered glass, Barnes nodded his head.

Tony frowned.

Barnes pursed his lips. He lifted his chin in a jerk, dark eyes looking beyond Tony.

Ah. Steve.

Tony jerked his head to the side, brow furrowed.

Barnes nodded. Then, very deliberately, he raised a finger, pointed it at Tony, and curled it forward. 

_I’m not going out there_ , Tony mouthed. _It’s HIM you want, isn’t it? I mean, I’m gorgeous and all, but it’s, y’know, pretty well known that you two--_

Barnes rolled his eyes with such exaggeration that Tony paused in his silent narration. He watched as Barnes rested the giant blade on the window sill, raised two fists, brought them together and then, slowly, pulled them apart.

He pointed at Tony, then at Steve.

When Tony didn’t respond, Barnes used his knife to point at Tony’s face and mouthed _MOVE_.

It was Tony’s turn to scowl. He moved, but he didn’t do it happily, sliding closer to the edge of the bed. 

_For the record_ , he mouthed, adjusting to as comfortable a position he could get while sleeping on the edge of a bed, _HE moved closer to ME._

_Does he have enough pillows?_ Barnes mouthed back, trying to peer over Tony’s hunched form from where he stood outside.

_Two._

_Give him one of yours._

_What. Seriously? He has TWO. I’m not giving him one of mine. Look at him, sleeping like a giant well toned super soldier baby. He’s fine._

Barnes glared. He pointed with his knife--again-- and mouthed, _Whatever. Just stay on your half of the bed. And,_ he leaned forward, _Don’t touch him._

Tony huffed. He was fed up with the guy already. Determined to have the last word, he shrugged and shimmied back a millimeter or two. _I don’t know. I might accidentally roll over in my sleep. Throw an arm over his waist. Cuddle his biceps._ The other man’s scowl deepened. _Hey, he might even snuggle up to me, and it won’t be MY fault--_

_TAP_

The point of the blade pressed against the window. Tony watched Barnes twist it minutely, back and forth, heard the slightest _scritching_ noise of glass being shaved off. Barnes's face was full of dark, painful, Russian assassin-y promises again, and Tony didn’t need Google Translate to decode all the things that were in store for him.

 _There will be no touching of bodies in this bedroom, in any bedroom, ever,_ Tony mouthed. He even scooted closer to the edge again. Barnes scowled. _Promise!_

After a beat, and another twist of the blade, Barnes' lips twitched. He lowered the knife.

For a moment there were no more mouthing of words, no more scary scowls, just one tired face staring into another. Tony supposed Barnes could use a good night’s rest, especially in his place next to Steve, but the man wouldn’t let himself. Probably didn’t think he deserved a rest. Or Steve’s presence. 

Tony wasn’t a psychologist or anything, but he felt pretty spot on.

The mattress shifted, and a mutter sounded behind him. Blinking at the wide eyes of the Winter Soldier, Tony turned and saw Steve shifting slowly against his pillows, brow furrowed. He muttered something to himself again, curled his fingers close to his cheek, but didn’t wake.

Tony watched him for a few seconds before turning back to Barnes.

But there was only an empty window.

With nothing else to stare at but the neat nick Barnes' blade had made on the glass, Tony shut his eyes and wondered if he’d ever be able to get back to sleep after that ordeal.

He got his answer after he woke up that morning, sunlight shining where there had been moonlight just moments ago, and the warmth of a muscled man curled up against his back.

Slowly, Tony raised his phone--which he kept on his person at all times--and snapped a selfie of himself perched on the edge of the bed, with Steve occupying _HIS_ side.

He was going to need evidence for the angry soldier that would, eventually, show up.


End file.
